Liam Levitz
(7) Coulrophobia - Die a virgin (or phanotophobia)
A really must apologise, a’ve done a hell of a lot of talkin’ and not a lot of thinkin’. Mibbe’s a should shut the fuck up for minute and actually listen to whit am saying, know whit a mean? Ma tendency to overthink means, ironically, that I can tend to think right past any solutions or the like. All the pit stops and restful beds that a could quietly clamber into get lost in a mental blur of whit ifs, who cares and piles of pishy poetry.
Aye, instead of mapping out some well kent course, a just stick ma brain into the gear marked ‘introspection’, jam ma foot on the pedal and off a fucking go until I hit something too damn big to figure out. Like fucking Bowie so am, always crashing in the same shitty wee car.
Well mibbe it’s time to stop aw that you know? Mibbe being this stupit clown ain’t the best for me, but mibbe it’s aw a can be, which leaves only one wee question. Where do you drive to if it’s the driver you want shot of?
A’ve thought of it before like. Or as I would like to see it, been chased to it by others. Back in them days that I like to think of as halcyon is actually a sad wee bastard cutting about in a shitey world not of his making.
‘Come on oot and get pished’ they said.
‘Go on Gavin, boys your age should be out dancing and drinking all night’ they said.
‘These are the best days of your life wee man’ they said.
‘These are the tunes to like and the places to go’ they said.
‘Yer better off with a drink down ye pal’ they said.
They said a lot of fucking things back then, never fucking asked me though did they? Never thought that mibbe sitting up on the hills listening to Radiohead wisnae such a crap way to spend a Saturday evening. Never stopped to reckon that mibbe I preferred ‘Paranoid Android’, fresh air and ma own company to ‘Lovefool’, sticky floors and a bunch of wanks from ma school.
Anyway, a was saying, a’ve thought of it before. Was one step away an’ all. Standing on the Hammills in Paisley town centre, staring down at the waterfall froth and churn (the motion of which cruelly mimicked the feeling from inside ma Tequilla addled stomach). Back then, Paisley town centre, Utopia nightclub and aw the fucks, nonces, good guys and nobodies that were crammed into it, fuck, that was ma world. That was whit a was trying to conform to and that is whit a most assuredly wanted to avoid.
So their a stood, eyes aw bleary and bloodshot, heed spinning like a dervish’s arse. A was peering down over the rocks, down to the black water that a hoped would immerse me once and for all. Looking back with some hindsight, the most that would have happened to me was that a would have cracked ma erse of the river bed and been washed up at the bus station 100 metres down stream, all too alive and all too sober. Still, these facts were not considered prescient to ma stupit wee heed and a was convinced that ma best chance of a happy life, wis no life at all.
Of course, a never did it. A wee lassie a was seeing at the time called out to me from the bridge and instead of losing ma self in the eddies of the river currents, a slunk quietly back into the swirls of teenage life. She never knew what she did like and a mibbe never thanked her enough for aw the times she pulled me through, consciously or otherwise. Hell, a never thanked her for not letting me die a virgin.
A’ve thought of it at other times, like. Sometimes all of this clutter and demand that scatters around you just drives you down some lateral mindset till ye can think of nowt more than a big bump and a swift end. At other times life sneaks up on you in a fucking mundane blizzard and just washes you right clean of any sense you had.
And now, now here a am, a fucking clown with a balding wig, cracked make up and a thousand fucking loose ends trailing behind me. Am pointing this camera at me to make sense of some intangible weight that’s grabbed on like a fucking pitbull and is nae gonna let go till it’s bled me fucking dry. Is it working? Does this make sense to anyone let alone me? More presciently, am a gonna go out like this? Is this clown gonna make one more technifuckingcolour blow out and then bow out with a slump, a groan and a very final fucking thud…
(7) Coulrophobia - Die a virgin (or phanotophobia)
A really must apologise, a’ve done a hell of a lot of talkin’ and not a lot of thinkin’. Mibbe’s a should shut the fuck up for minute and actually listen to whit am saying, know whit a mean? Ma tendency to overthink means, ironically, that I can tend to think right past any solutions or the like. All the pit stops and restful beds that a could quietly clamber into get lost in a mental blur of whit ifs, who cares and piles of pishy poetry.
Aye, instead of mapping out some well kent course, a just stick ma brain into the gear marked ‘introspection’, jam ma foot on the pedal and off a fucking go until I hit something too damn big to figure out. Like fucking Bowie so am, always crashing in the same shitty wee car.
Well mibbe it’s time to stop aw that you know? Mibbe being this stupit clown ain’t the best for me, but mibbe it’s aw a can be, which leaves only one wee question. Where do you drive to if it’s the driver you want shot of?
A’ve thought of it before like. Or as I would like to see it, been chased to it by others. Back in them days that I like to think of as halcyon is actually a sad wee bastard cutting about in a shitey world not of his making.
‘Come on oot and get pished’ they said.
‘Go on Gavin, boys your age should be out dancing and drinking all night’ they said.
‘These are the best days of your life wee man’ they said.
‘These are the tunes to like and the places to go’ they said.
‘Yer better off with a drink down ye pal’ they said.
They said a lot of fucking things back then, never fucking asked me though did they? Never thought that mibbe sitting up on the hills listening to Radiohead wisnae such a crap way to spend a Saturday evening. Never stopped to reckon that mibbe I preferred ‘Paranoid Android’, fresh air and ma own company to ‘Lovefool’, sticky floors and a bunch of wanks from ma school.
Anyway, a was saying, a’ve thought of it before. Was one step away an’ all. Standing on the Hammills in Paisley town centre, staring down at the waterfall froth and churn (the motion of which cruelly mimicked the feeling from inside ma Tequilla addled stomach). Back then, Paisley town centre, Utopia nightclub and aw the fucks, nonces, good guys and nobodies that were crammed into it, fuck, that was ma world. That was whit a was trying to conform to and that is whit a most assuredly wanted to avoid.
So their a stood, eyes aw bleary and bloodshot, heed spinning like a dervish’s arse. A was peering down over the rocks, down to the black water that a hoped would immerse me once and for all. Looking back with some hindsight, the most that would have happened to me was that a would have cracked ma erse of the river bed and been washed up at the bus station 100 metres down stream, all too alive and all too sober. Still, these facts were not considered prescient to ma stupit wee heed and a was convinced that ma best chance of a happy life, wis no life at all.
Of course, a never did it. A wee lassie a was seeing at the time called out to me from the bridge and instead of losing ma self in the eddies of the river currents, a slunk quietly back into the swirls of teenage life. She never knew what she did like and a mibbe never thanked her enough for aw the times she pulled me through, consciously or otherwise. Hell, a never thanked her for not letting me die a virgin.
A’ve thought of it at other times, like. Sometimes all of this clutter and demand that scatters around you just drives you down some lateral mindset till ye can think of nowt more than a big bump and a swift end. At other times life sneaks up on you in a fucking mundane blizzard and just washes you right clean of any sense you had.
And now, now here a am, a fucking clown with a balding wig, cracked make up and a thousand fucking loose ends trailing behind me. Am pointing this camera at me to make sense of some intangible weight that’s grabbed on like a fucking pitbull and is nae gonna let go till it’s bled me fucking dry. Is it working? Does this make sense to anyone let alone me? More presciently, am a gonna go out like this? Is this clown gonna make one more technifuckingcolour blow out and then bow out with a slump, a groan and a very final fucking thud…